E
by 31ofdecember
Summary: What would Mello's arc have looked like if he didn't only have Matt? Mello's sister joins in the Kira case, but her objective is not to help him find Kira before Near does. She just wants to keep him alive.
1. Chapter 1

The air was stifling and reeked so much of alcohol that it made me sick. If I had my way, I would never have found myself here. Immature, drunken perverts and slutty whores. But a job was a job, so I finished my drink and casually strolled into the restroom. It was time.

My honey brown hair, curled ever so slighty, fell elegantly upon my shoulders. In the mirror, I looked flawless. Simple black dress, check. Laced stockings, check. The kind of red lipstick that makes men go wild, check. I adjusted my makeup, adding some blush and deep black eyeliner, and brushed my hands against my thigh. Gun secured, check. All systems ready. I gave myself one last glance before contacting the target.

I had in fact been observing him for the past hour. He was a skinny, pathetic looking thing who seriously needed some improvements in the hair department. I frowned as he removed his cheesy shades, revealing two small, beady eyes. No, scratch that, he was beyond hope. I sighed. Could this creep really be the person I was looking for?

The girls surrounding him gave me dirty looks as I sauntered over to their couch. _Dirty whores. You're just jealous. Unlike you, money is not what I'm looking for_. He turned his head and I saw his expression become hungry as he eyed me. I had to retrain a sudden urge to kick that pervert face of his, and instead displayed the most seductive smile I could muster. It wasn't hard after that to reduce him to a horny, drooling mess. We left the bar to head to a hotel room.

"So Jack, is it?" I asked, reapplying my lipstick during the car ride. "What is it you do for a living?"

He wasn't even trying to hide the growing (and highly disturbing) bulge between his pants. "Uh…I'm a salesman. I sell things."

"Ooooh," I cooed, raising my eyebrows. "And what is it you sell, exactly, Mr. Jack?"

He laughed. What an awful noise. "Oh, you know, tools and such. Simple stuff."

I resisted the urge to burst out laughing. This guy was perhaps the most horrible excuse for a liar I have ever seen.

"Tools?" I asked, playing dumb. "Like…hammers and stuff? That's so cool!" I leaned towards him, licking my lips ever so slightly. "I _like_ tools."

He smiled slyly in my direction. "I can show you the biggest _tool_ later, if you know what I mean," he winked. _Oh my fucking god. Someone just kill me now. This guy._ Uh, how should I respond? _Be a stupid, dirty whore. What would those bitches at the bar do?_ I giggled childishly, puckering my lips. "Ooooh, yes, please, Mister! I would enjoy that very much." I winked back.

The hotel room was, I have to admit, pretty nice. We had a sprawling view the Hollywood hills, not bad for a low ranking Mafia member. I guess that comes with being rich, no matter how unfortunate one's styling choices may be. I placed my purse on the table and sat provocatively on the bed, crossing my legs.

He took off his jacket, which no doubt held a concealed firearm. I scanned his body. Tight-fitting clothes with no visible deformities. And given his raging erection, it was unlikely that he had a gun hidden down there. Well, _maybe._ Low probability. He sat next to me and slid a hand unsubtedly around my shoulder and pulling me close to him.

"So let's get down to business, shall we," he chuckled. "What is it that _you_, pretty lady, do for a profession?"

"Oh, Jack, you're so funny! Fine, I'll play along." I flipped my hair. "I'm a policewoman. I bust bad, _bad _men like you," I teased.

He was amused, and began to kiss my neck. "Well then, I'm a policeman, and I must say you've been a naughty, naughty girl." I giggled, pressing my lips to his. "But seriously," he said, "I'm not interested in talking business. Even the rates for a drop dead gorgeous woman as yourself is not an issue for me. I'm quite successful with my…sales."

_So am I,_ I thought, frowning slightly. I wasn't sure if I should be proud or insulted that I had passed the 'convince him you're a prostitute' test with flying colors. Doesn't matter though, because everything was going according to plan. I drew him close to me, inserting my tongue into his mouth. Part of my mind was sad that this was almost normal for me. I no longer felt the disgust and shame that overwhelmed me when I first entered this trade. The ends justifies the means, I guess. I made sure to feel around his upper body to rule out all possibilities of him concealing a weapon. I even gave him a quick squeeze down there. No gun, that's for sure.

His rough hands, greedy for flesh, began to grope my body, snaking into my cleavage to envelop my petite breasts. I kissed him again, this time pushing him back against the headboard and pressing my hands on his shoulders so that I was on top of him. I could tell that he was slightly surprised by my aggression. I guess he pinned me down for the shy, submissive type.

"_Very _naughty indeed," he whispered, exploring my abdomen, groaning in anticipatory pleasure. His bony fingers stroked my skin, sending concealed shivers down my spine. "Come on, take if off," he panted. He wanted it so bad, the horny bastard.

I turned towards him, eyes locked onto his, and smirked. "Now now, let's not get to too hasty here. Good things come to those who wait…Mr. _Neylon_." His expression fell immediately, and panic set in. But before he could respond or react, I gave him a swift knee to the jaw. He yelled out in pain as I launched my body off the bed, planted my feet on the ground, and cocked my gun at his head. He was frozen with shock, mouth gaping wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but I rose a finger and he shut up.

"I prefer if I do the talking from now on, Mr. Neylon." I loaded the gun with an audible click. He gulped, cowering as I took a step towards him. I laughed. "Not so tough now are you, Mister Amazing Salesman? But don't worry," I smiled. "I'm not here to arrest you. I'm not even part of law enforcement. Even if I were, I probably wouldn't have enough evidence to throw you behind bars. Four times convicted, four times released, isn't that right?"

"W-What..? How…S-so what do you—," he started.

"Shut up, Mr. Neylon. What part of 'I prefer to do the talking' do you not understand?" I took a step towards him, and he whimpered in fear. Fucking pathetic.

"As I was saying, I am not a police officer. Though that would be pretty funny, given our previous interaction." I narrowed my eyes. "No, I'm merely searching for somebody. My sources say you work with him. He goes by the name of Mello."

His brow furrowed, and he began to stutter. "M-Mello? Wha—"

"Mr. Neylon, for the last time, you are not to do any of the talking in this conversation. Just nod or shake your head. I know that you work for the Mafia. Do you and Mello work together?"

He nodded furiously, eyes focused on gun pointed at his head.

"I can't just take your word for it. Describe him to me. With details."

He looked at me, like a dog regards its master. I smirked. "Permission to speak granted, Mr. Neylon!"

"H-He's..a skinny k-kid, blonde hair…addicted t-to chocolate…" _Well,_ I thought. _That's all I needed to know. Addicted to chocolate._

"I want you to lead me to your hideout. You are to introduce me as an anonymous source that is willing to trade information regarding Kira for illegal drugs. Nod if you understand," I commanded. Of course he nodded.

"If you are not compliant I will not hesitate to blow your head off. We will depart now." I dug one hand into his jacket, fishing out a small handgun. I stuck it into the holster on my thigh.

I was satisfied that Jack Neylon was clearly horrified of me. He scrambled onto his feet, and we left for the car. I sat diagonally from him in the back, watching his every move, always with my gun fixed at his head. But despite my focused attention on keeping Neylon in his place, it was my turn to be afraid now. I had no idea how this meeting would play out; I hadn't planned that far ahead. All I was focused on right now was to find Mello.

_Mello_. How easily the name rolls off the tongue. Too easily, given that the person it described was nothing but rough edges and a short fuse. I sighed. I was fully aware of the fact that there was a good chance that I wouldn't make it out of the meeting alive. But it was the end of the line, the last leg in a journey that started four years ago; it was way too late to turn back.

After all, I had a score to settle. And as much as I despised him for doing what he did back then, I couldn't help but care about him. Mello might be an angry, selfish, cocoa addicted criminal, but I wasn't going to just let him fall so deep into shit that he gets himself killed.

Jack turned off the highway and into a secluded area, eventually veering off the road and onto a bumpy, dirt terrain. It was another five to ten minutes before a dilapidated building came into view. He parked the car and awaited my instructions.

I took a deep breath, ordered him to hand me his keys, and got out of the car. The air was chilly and the grounds deserted. He better not be pulling some last minute bullshit on me. I signaled for him to get out, and we made our way for the entrance.

Let's get this family reunion over with.


	2. Chapter 2

It was often emphasized in Wammy's House to never forget our roots and the lives we came from. Since we addressed each other with aliases and don't usually ask each other about our lives before Wammy's, we were quick to judge each other's behavior by what we have experienced and seen. This can be interpreted as a positive thing, since we're essentially all empty slates: whatever horrors or nightmares we've known in our past identities are no longer. Yet I can't help but think that everyone there must've have an interesting story to tell about how they ended up there. For Mello and I, that road was tough and we only made it due to sheer luck. Our hardships are an integral part of who we are.

Our parents were both doctors, so we were exposed to a good amount of medicine while growing up. They were loving and never failed to encourage us in our endeavors, no matter how silly they were. Papa always ate our homemade cookies, even though our baking skills were mediocre at best. During those years, we truly lived as a happy, cohesive family.

It only took a second for everything to change. I remember that day very well. Papa was a forensic pathologist and was often summoned as an expert witness for medico legal cases, and planned to attend the court hearing after dropping me and Mihael off at the community park and Mom at the clinic where she worked. Too excited to start playing, Mihael and I grabbed the soccer ball and ran as soon as we left the car, muttering haste goodbyes to our parents, unaware that minutes later, they would disappear from our lives. Just as we reached the edge of the field we heard a deafening collision and the scraping of metal on metal. Turning our heads to the sound, we gaped in horror at the remnants of our deformed car, now sitting in a pile of debris and shattered glass. I don't think I can ever forget that image and the terrible, terrible sound that came with it. It would give me nightmares years later, reminding me of the day my life trajectory took a massive, sharp turn. I was only 8 years old, and my brother 10. We had no close relatives that would take us.

Despite what people seem to think, my brother wasn't always a jerk. In fact, before our parents died, he was quite the model sibling; he made sure I wasn't bullied in school, that I did my homework, and that I executed safety precautions before crossing the street. He would teach me all the secret strategies for our board and card games so that I would wipe out any competition from my peers. He even announced to my male classmates that they should just give up all romantic crushes on me because I was obviously too good for them (his words, not mine). Okay, maybe he was a little bit of a jerk, but not to me.

After the accident, though, he changed. Well, I guess we both changed, but Mihael especially became withdrawn, and a big part of that was my fault. Without our parents, he took it to be his sole responsibility to protect me, so things were especially tough for him when we were shuffled around foster homes like unwanted merchandise. Our first foster parents were sweet, but themselves suffered from health problems that it was eventually impossible for them to allot the necessary time and energy to care for us, and so they in essence returned us to the state, suggesting them to give us to someone more capable. The next few homes I scarcely remember other than being told the rules of the house and how grateful we should be. They could've been worse, but we were ignored, for the most part.

Our fifth and last foster home is the one that undoubtedly will be forever ingrained in our memory. I think it was also the final step that sent my previously loving, affectionate, outgoing brother spiraling inevitably into a new identity that was cold, suspicious, and angry. The so-called family looked really great on paper: a wealthy husband and wife who welcomed others' children because they couldn't have their own. The mother appeared friendly when we first met, and later even took us out for gelato (a luxury that hadn't crossed our minds for months). She was quite attractive with her curly red hair, snake skin bag, and brand name heels…but that gelato was the only thing she ever gave to us. We later learned that she didn't even live in the house anymore; she had married in order to obtain a blue card (the European equivalent of an American green card) to stay in Germany. It started out alright, but after a few months I guess she couldn't pretend to love her husband anymore. Our new foster dad has since showered her with extravagant gifts, but to no avail. She had actually refused to have sex with him for the past few months, and in a final desperate attempt to persuade her to stay in the marriage even after she obtains her card, he registered them for foster care. Fucked up, right? I guess he thought she'd give a shit about poor orphans like us and they'd somehow become a normal couple, raising kids together. Not a surprise that it didn't work: she decided we weren't worth her time after that first day, and we never saw much of her again save short trips to the house to retrieve or drop off an item. What still pisses me off to this day about her is that she always pretended to be so nice when she did see us during those short visits.

"Oh, hello children! How have you two been?" She'd say, with a smile too sweet to be real. Then she'd make up some bullshit excuse for her absence. "I'm sorry, I've just been _sooooo_ busy at work lately, you know, so many clients and meetings with people around the world. Business trips are seriously tiring." I don't even think she had a real job. By 'business trip' she probably meant the vacations she often took using her husband's funds. Their whole relationship was so messed up and pitiful that we actually felt sorry for our foster dad.

His name was Joseph but we called him Mopey Joe. He was considerably older than our foster mom, but he was a successful investor of some sorts, and thus had some wealth. Whether due to stress from a demanding job or a failing marriage, he always had this tired, resigned look in his eyes, and did little after work besides stare at the television screen, leave a few voice mails for his wife, and down a can or two of beer. He would check up on us after he got home though, and occasionally brought us snacks or leftovers from expensive restaurants he'd gone to with his coworkers or clients. I particularly liked these raspberry almond shortbread cookies, so he would frequently drop by the nice bakery before heading home. We'd even sometimes play a board game or two, if he was feeling up to it. All in all, we had a pretty decent relationship. He didn't talk much, so we expressed our appreciation and kept our distance.

Let's talk about our lovely foster mom some more. Because I honestly hate that bitch. I might be looking for a scapegoat, but she's the one that again rocked our lives violently, just as things were beginning to develop a pattern of normalcy again. Life with Joe wasn't the best, but at least he cared about us to some degree and provided us with a nice roof over our heads. The bitch obtained her card and decided it was time to leave Joe for good. I think Joe actually genuinely loved her, because he begged for days for her to change her mind, and that things will get better, and that he could change. One night, she shows up at our door with a giant suitcase and another man, and informs Mopey Joe that she's there to retrieve all her belongings.

"If you won't agree to a divorce, I have no other choice, Joseph. I'm sorry, I simply am unhappy here with you and have found someone better. A true soul mate," she said, flashing a faint smile at her new man. "This is Peter. He's a _dancer_," she swooned. "We're going to London as a part of his company tour next week."

Joe couldn't bring himself to look either of them in the eyes. Mihael and I looked at each other from behind the stairs, not sure how to digest this new information. "That's..that's great, honey," Joe said softly.

"Mm-hmm! Well, I would like it if you didn't call me honey, since there's nothing really going on between us, you know," the bitch stated, stepping inside. "Peter, come help me gather my belongings and we can be off. Our dinner reservations at seven, don't forget!" Strutting down the hall towards the stairs, she finally took notice of us, and flashed one of her transparent smiles.

"Children! It's so nice to see you! I'd stay and chat but I really can't…," she looked back and winked at Peter before turning back to us. "We've got reservations at the _Margaux_," she whispered, proceeding up the stairs. That really meant nothing to us, and we decided to scurry off into our room to avoid the tension-filled environment. After a while, Peter and the bitch headed back downstairs with the suitcase now completely stuffed.

"I guess we'll see you around then, eh Joe?" Peter said, extending a hand towards our now completely downcast foster dad. Joe didn't reply nor did he take Peter's hand, but instead slowly lifted his eyes and locked them with Peter's. It was the look of an injured animal: too sad and without menace to be called a glare, but yet too angry and betrayed to be dismissed as normal. The bitch waved her hand and off they went, speeding out of the neighborhood and our lives. Joe stood by the doorway for a while even after they had disappeared around the corner. Slowly, he shut the door and turned around. We dared not step out of our rooms and only peeked out slightly from the doorway of our room because we simply didn't know what to say or do. Joe's face was devoid of color and he visibly shaking. He stepped slowly down the hall to the living room, and moments later, we heard the garage door open and a car drive out. The giant house was empty save for us two, and despite the creepiness we found ourselves able to breathe easily again.

We sat there in the hallway in silence. I mustered up the strength to ask the question we were both thinking. "Poor Joe. Do…do you think he'll keep us?" Mihael turned to me with an expression forlorn, almost resigned. "I'm not sure," he replied, looking at the ground. "But honestly, I'm not really sure if he'd be capable of taking care of us even if he wanted to. He seems pretty shaken up."

The idea of shuffling amongst another set of foster families filled me with dread. It's sad enough not having that many friends to begin with, but it was terribly unfair to have to lose the ones I did have every time we moved to a new family and area. Not to mention the awkward introductory conversations associated with every new family, and the loss of interest in us afterwards. Sitting there on the floor with my brother, the loneliness of the past year and the inability for either of us to actually do anything to alleviate our predicament suddenly hit me. Memories of our life before the accident flitted across my mind, and I felt the tears well up in my eyes.

_You have to be tough. Tears won't do you any good_, I thought to myself. But I couldn't help it: it was like a torrential flood about to break the dam. Mihael put his arm around me and pulled me close. As if responding to his action, I felt the emotion overcome me and began to sob uncontrollably onto his shoulder, staining his shirt with large teardrops. He gently ran some fingers through my hair, murmuring softly, "Shh. It'll be okay. Things are going to be okay." But even he didn't sound totally convinced.

Still pressed close to him, I spoke shakily. "I miss Mom and Papa. I miss that feeling of someone…actually caring for me. Oh, I feel so alone. I-I miss our home, and the things we'd do together as a family. Why did this have to happen to us?"

Mihael pulled away from me, placed his hands on my shoulders, and looked me in the eyes, dead serious. "Do not for one moment think you are alone. You will never be alone, Elena. I will always be here for you, and I will _always _ care for you. But we can't dwell on the past and what could have been, because we can't change what has already happened." He gave a sad smile, and continued in a softer tone. "It's been tough, and it's only going to get tougher. But we'll slow through it together. All of it. I promise. Not only for your sake and mine, but also our parent's."

I stared at my brother, tears still staining my vision. He was only two years older than me, but he was so confident, so…strong. Why couldn't I be like that? Why was I so weak? He was right: whatever pain I had experienced so far would have been a hundred, no, a thousand times harder to live through had it not been for him. I resolved to become stronger and tougher, to stop being afraid of the future.

"What did I do to deserve a brother like you?" I said, wiping my tears away. Seeing that I was better, Mihael rolled his eyes. "Don't get carried away now. You know how I hate the mushy stuff. I'll just pretend you said thanks, like a normal person." I giggled and punched him playfully. We froze suddenly as the front door suddenly swung open and then was slammed shut violently. Peering from the doorway, we saw Joe stumble in, carrying a large bag.

"That fucking _BITCH!" _He yelled, throwing the bag on the ground. "I tried to be nice to her. I _GAVE _her her fucking _RIGHT _to live in this _FUCKING _country, and what does she do? _Run off with some dancer. WHY? BECAUSE HE HAS FUCKING ABS AND A NICE ASS. Well, I'M SORRY if I was working MY sorry ass off making money for YOU instead of working out!"_ Glass shattered and the carpet was coated with a mess of dried flower petals and water as Joe vigorously flung a table vase against the wall. "Fucking gold-digging cunt. I'm gonna…I'm gonna fucking _kill_ her."

He pulled out a large, fat bottle from the bag and headed towards the living room. Before he got there, though, as if he abruptly remembered we were still here, he turned towards our direction, and we made eye contact. I'd never seen such a look as that in his eyes. Words can't even describe that frenzied, rabid look. I was so scared I couldn't move or even pull my eyes away. Joe's eyes narrowed and his expression transitioned from one of anger to one of disgust. He turned away from us and trudged to the living room, muttering more obscenities. I'm pretty sure I heard "_stupid fucking orphans" _here or there in his long tirade, which didn't seem to end.

"Let's stay here just to be safe. Joe's not himself right now," Mihael said, ushering us back inside the room. My brother seemed worried that the door had no lock. "He shouldn't do anything to us," he finally concluded, plopping down onto his bed. I went over to mine and sat down. Joe's bitter rants continued downstairs. We tried to ignore it by burrowing our noses into our library books, but soon Joe became borderline hysterical. And the words he was spewing, they were seriously terrifying. He kept going on about how he wanted to kill his wife and her new boyfriend and exactly how he'd do it. _Poison, perhaps? No, that's for pussies and cowards. I'm going to bring them down valiantly. Yes, such is how revenge must be plotted. Fucking CUNT. I'll slit your fucking whore throat, you hear? _Such statements were often followed with more sounds of broken glass and silverware. I found my hands trembling so hard I couldn't hold or concentrate on my book anymore. My brother noticed and closed his book.

"Alright, come on. What we need right now is a distraction. To get away from here for a little bit. We haven't had dinner out in ages! You got any money on you?"

I rummaged through my drawer and shook my head. "Only a few coins. It's not like he gives us much money anyway."

Mihael gave me his signature smirk. "Yeah, but Mopey Joe always keeps his cash in the left pocket of his trousers." He pulled out two tens and a few ones from underneath his bed mattress.

I felt my eyes widen. "You _stole_ those from Joe?"

"Only the tens. The ones are my savings from hard-earned days of skipping lunch at school." Mihael sighed, exasperated at my disapproving expression. "Relax, Elena, it was just twice. I just wanted to start actually saving up, you know, just in case we ever needed to spend something on our own. Like now."

"So you're suggesting that you planned to take more? Why don't we just ask him for some money?" I asked. My brother scoffed. "Do you not hear him? You want to go down and ask him for money when he's got nothing but murder on his hands? Be my guest."

I shut up, and we tiptoed down the stairs, more than ready to escape Crazy Joe for a bit. As we approached the front door, unfortunately, Joe had finished his first bottle of alcohol and was on his way to retrieve another one from the bag lying near the door. His appearance was even worse than before: his usually neat and combed hair was now a chaotic, tangled mess. His expression was still deranged, and his breath reeked of the stench of alcohol.

"And where the fuck do you think you two are going?" He demanded, body swaying back and forth.

I opened my mouth so speak but my brother stepped forward. "We were hungry and planned to go get some dinner," he said, "if that's okay with you of course," he added hastily.

Joe laughed maniacally and pointed a crooked finger towards Mihael. "Cut the crap. You two were trying to sneak out, weren't you!"

Mihael hesitated. "Yes, but only for dinner, honest. W-we just didn't want to disturb you while you were…you know—"

"When I was WHAT? What are you insinuating here, boy? You think I'm crazy, don't you. YOU ALL THINK I'M A LUNATIC, IS THAT IT?" Joe hobbled towards us, teeth bared and eyes aflame. Mihael pushed me back and stood between us.

"Fucking ungrateful orphans. You don't find me trustworthy even though I've provided you shelter and food for the past few months? Wow, I try to be nice to my wife, and now to you unworthy children, but all I get in return is a sack full of fucking insults thrown right into my face!" He now stood directly in front of Mihael. I could smell his rancid breath from where I was standing. I desperately wanted to run away, to escape, anything but stay trapped in the house with him.

My brother attempted to explain ourselves. "Joe, please, we didn't mean any harm or insult, I swear—"

I screamed and watched helplessly as Crazy Joe delivered a swift punch across my brother's face. The momentum was so much that he fell over to the side, hands covering his face. Thick, red blood was flowing from my brother's nose and dripped onto the carpet. Joe now shifted his attention to me, and I again froze in horror. _Oh god, he's coming for me._ He stumbled towards me, but his attention was diverged as Mihael slowly got up.

"_Don't. you. DARE. _You stay the _fuck _away from her_,"_ Mihael hissed, wiping the blood from his face.

"Oh I see. You're a TOUGH one aren't you?" Joe sneered. He raised his hand to slap him, but this time my brother was more prepared. He blocked the hit, but couldn't keep his balance. He fell backwards, and Joe pinned him down. I stepped forward but stopped cold when Joe looked at me and snarled, "If you're smart, you'd stay where you are." I looked back and forth from him and my poor brother, lying on the ground, defenseless and overpowered. I was too scared. I couldn't do anything. I was utterly useless, and I hated myself for it.

Joe turned back towards Mihael. "Your sister's a smart one, unlike you. She knows when to respect fucking authority," he spat. He glared down at my brother, and eyeing him suspiciously. Taking hold of Mihael's shoulders, he began to shake him mercilessly. "Go out to get dinner? And how were you going to afford that?"

"I don't eat lunch," Mihael growled, struggling to get up. His attempts were futile, however; his eleven year old frame simply couldn't match that of a grown man.

Joe lowered himself so his face was no more than a few inches from my brother's. "I don't believe you. You know what I think? I think you've been a naughty, little _thief._" My brother struggled to break away but failed again. Fear had replaced where rage had been only a few moments earlier, and Joe detected it, and became more confident. "There's an easy way to find out if you're a liar _and_ a thief. Show me the money," he demanded, shaking him again. "_Where is it?"_

My brother whimpered, but stayed silent. Joe stopped and again focused his gaze on me.

"Let's not foolishly protect anyone now, boy." My brother squirmed as Joe placed his hands around his neck. "You're not going to win," Joe laughed, tightening his grip.

_Oh my god, _I thought. _He's going to kill him. And I'm just standing here. Useless._ I felt faint. I couldn't believe what was happening.

"It's in my pocket," Mihael finally gasped, and Joe released his grip, sending my brother into violent spasms of labored breathing. Joe slipped his hands into my brother's left pocket, and then the right, pulling out the two tens. My brother closed his eyes, dreading what was coming.

"Well, well, well," Joe said, looking quite amused. "I'd like to see you worm your way out of this one. If you saved this money up from the lunch money I give you every morning, then how did you come to acquire two ten dollar bills? I only give you ones, since your shitty school lunch only costs three fucking dollars."

My brother was out of ideas. Joe smirked. "I always had a hunch, since I've noticed money disappearing from my wallet a few times this past month. Not as innocent as you look, eh? I've been raising a no-good, lying _thief._" Joe slapped my brother and balled his hands into fists.

"_STOP IT! Please!"_ I begged, sinking down to my knees. "Please, we really didn't mean to anger you. Please. Don't hurt him! _NO!" _I cried, as Joe began to beat him. I ran over and tried to pry him off, but he pushed me away with surprising strength into the nearby sofa. The corner cut into my ribs, and immediately I felt the excruciating pain spread through my body. I felt sick and dizzy, and wished I could shut off the torturous sounds of Joe's fists raining down onto my brother a few feet away.

"This will," Joe snarled in between the attacks, "teach you that I'm in charge here. And my orders will be obeyed, _no exceptions._" Mihael cowered under the blows, but never cried out or begged for mercy. He just curled into a defensive ball, wincing with each strike. "Oh, and if I ever catch you stealing money from me again, I'll do more than just beat you."

It took a minute (though it seemed like an eternity) of continuous beating and kicking before Joe finally was satisfied, and stepped away from my brother. He sauntered over near me, where his precious alcohol lay, and gave me a quick kick in the back. I doubled over in pain and felt an unpleasant wave of nausea. I braced myself for more but Joe was content, grabbed the bag, and made his way back towards the living room.

I waited a few moments for the lightheadedness to pass, and painfully sat up, rubbing the bruised area where the wooden sofa had jammed into my ribcage. My heart ached to see my brother lying there unconscious and beaten, like a broken rag doll. I crawled to his side and nearly drew back in fear when I saw his face. My brother was barely recognizable; his hair and clothes were the same, but his face was bloodied, bruised, and swollen. I shook him gently, but was afraid not only of Joe coming back but also of worsening any potential injuries my brother may have sustained.

"Mihael? Mihael, please wake up," I whispered cautiously, always keeping an eye on the living room. I could hear the pattern of Joe chugging the bottle of alcohol and then setting it down on the table just to down it again.

My brother stirred slightly, but didn't awake. I ran upstairs and wet a towel and began to clean off the blood from his face. Gradually he gained consciousness. Groaning, he opened his eyes and stared blankly at me, eyes not quite focusing.

"Mihael, it's me. Elena. Are you okay?" _Obviously not, dumbass_, I thought to myself.

He grimaced and attempted to get up, but didn't get too far before he gasped in pain, clutching his side. Lifting up the shirt revealed a series of dark bruises resulting from Joe's merciless kicks. Supporting him the best I could, we both managed to stand up, though he was obviously weak and unable to climb the stairs up to our room. I guided him to the sofa where he slowly sat down, still too pained to even talk. I went upstairs again and filled a cup with tap water, since I was too frightened to venture into the kitchen.

"Thanks," he murmured, taking the cup off my hands. The sound of Joe's bottle clanking on the table continued in the background. I felt myself sinking to my knees again, paralyzed with guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Mihael. I should've helped you. Instead, I just watched and did nothing," I confessed, tears streaming down my cheeks once again. My brother continued to carefully drink from the cup, and then set it aside. I nervously lifted my eyes my eyes to meet his. To my surprise, his expression contained no blame. In fact, he looked calm and serene.

"It's not your fault. I would not have forgiven myself if you had been hurt even more, which you definitely would have been had you disobeyed him. The fault is mine," he answered. "I should've known better than to steal money from Joe. I don't know what I was thinking."

I looked at the living room before lowering my voice. "It does not excuse his actions. He beat and strangled you, Mihael! He could've killed you. We must report this. Who knows when he might abuse us again?"

Mihael sighed and closed his eyes, thinking. "It is night, and we have no access to a phone. Whatever we must do we can't start until tomorrow. Let's just focus on resting for now. We'll get the motherfucker though. We will." He winced as he laboriously stood up, and limped towards the stairs. I sprung up and followed him, ready to assist him wherever he needed. I wanted so badly to somehow make up for my absence of courage against Joe that I was ready to face anything, as long as my brother wished it.

The next morning, we were awoken by Joe, who had knocked incessantly on our door and entered our room. I instantly hopped out of bed and faced him, ready to fight, as naïve as that notion might've been. Mihael was awake as well but still too weak to quickly get up. He supported himself on one arm and raised himself slightly, glaring warily at Joe.

Joe raised two hands into the air. "Oh, children, please forgive me. I'm so sorry, I wasn't myself. I never meant to hurt either of you…please," he sobbed, especially upon looking at Mihael's face. I stood there, my gaze cold and unforgiving. "Let me make it up to you," he implored, reaching out for my arm. I flinched and immediately Joe retreated.

"I'm sorry. I will give you anything you want or need, but please…please forgive me. Please don't report me, I…I wasn't myself yesterday. If the court learns about this I will go to prison. Elena," he looked at me with those pitiful eyes. "you know I would never intentionally harm either of you. I just couldn't deal with…her, and Peter, and…oh god, what have I done?" he wept.

My brother sat upright now and glowered at Joe through narrowed eyes. "You really expect us to forgive you so easily? Let me remind you that you choked and beat me, and threatened to kill us. We have no reason to trust you anymore."

"I'll give you anything. Anything. Please. I promise that it will never happen again. I care about you two, I really do. It was just one night, an isolated incident, I promise," Joe insisted, bowing to us. "Please."

I wavered. As much as I hated him for hurting my brother, I could not deny the care he reserved for us in the months prior. I turned to Mihael, confused and ashamed, but he again appeared relaxed and collected.

He took a quick glance at me before replying curtly, "Fine. But the instant you as much as _touch_ either of us, your ass is going to be thrown behind bars." Joe's head snapped back in amazement both at the boy's usage of uncharacteristic, obscene vocabulary and the realization that he was, for now at least, off the hook.

The days after that, Joe took time off work and brought us takeout from fancy restaurants, and supplied us with a variety of medication, gauze, and balms to treat Mihael's injuries. He told the school we were sick and got us excused. The moment he returned to work and we were alone in the house, however, I bombarded my brother with questions.

"Why'd you let him go so easily? I guess I agree with your decision, but I'm surprised by how quickly you came to it, especially after he beat you like that…"

"I had no choice," my brother replied. "I was not in any physical shape to resist him, and you aren't strong enough to pose a threat. If we had refused to forgive him he could've easily locked us into this room. And who knows what else after that." He took a bite off a chocolate bar that Joe had given us in the morning.

"I see. And because this room is on the second floor we would've had no chance of escaping…" I surmised, estimating the distance to the ground from the window. "But you really don't intend to report him if he behaves?"

Mihael took another loud bite, snapping a huge chunk of chocolate off the bar. "For now, I guess. He's been very generous lately. But we have to be prepared in case he hurts us again. Which is why I intend to spend some of this food money he's just given us to purchase a cell phone. A simple pre-paid one should be pretty cheap." I nodded. That made sense. Mihael put on a sweatshirt and pulled the hood over his face, and we commuted to the local shopping plaza. We returned home with not only a cell phone but also a sturdy, aluminum baseball bat.

"Just in case," my brother had explained.

The bat at least offered us some peace of mind, because that evening Joe didn't come home until almost midnight, and when he did he staggered in, clearly intoxicated. Mihael and I became apprehensive and kept our guards up, never going near Joe alone. Joe didn't mind us, though, and didn't hurt us that evening. Still, we slept with the baseball bat in Mihael's reach.

I regularly wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, since my bladder's apparently just not big enough to suck it up for a few hours. That night, I trekked, as usual, towards the bathroom located right down the hall from our room, closed the door, and switched on the lights. For a split second, I saw Joe sitting on the closed toilet lid, one hand inside his pants, another holding what appeared to be a magazine. Startled, I shrieked but Joe's hand shot out behind me and pressed against my mouth, stifling my cry. I struggled to free myself and grasped for the door knob without avail; if Mihael had been no match for Joe's strength, then I plainly didn't stand a chance. Joe fumbled around the nearby cabinet and then pressed what felt like duct tape forcibly on my mouth, preventing me from crying for help.

He restrained me for a few seconds and I wondered what he was going to do. I detested the way he looked at me, with his eyes scanning the length of my entire body; it was bestial, barbaric, _hungry_. "Shh. Be a good girl now," Joe whispered at last, pushing me against the corner wall. He spun me around to face him, and I was forced to confront his repugnant breath. He pinned both my hands above my head, and locked his longer legs around mine such that I essentially couldn't move. I moaned in terror as he inched his face closer and closer to mine, as if smelling me. He began to taste my face with his tongue, brushing it up and down my neck, cheek, and ears. Realizing that he could control my arms with just one hand, Joe's other hand snaked up under my pajamas and greedily stroked the skin on my stomach and moved up, enveloping my undeveloped breasts. I quivered under the touch of his cold, rough hands, and noticed the hard lump between his legs pressing against my lower abdomen. He groaned in pleasure.

I had no idea what was going on, and I literally could not move and was powerless under his control. He was using my body as he wished; his hand now wriggled its way into my pajama pants. I protested uselessly as he stroked down there through my underwear. What the fuck is he doing, I thought. Why was he touching me down there? The whole thing was so god damn uncomfortable, and I was completely overpowered. I had to endure it all. Pressed to the bathroom wall.

I gasped as his hand stopped stroking and instead delved its way underneath my panties, making direct contact with my skin. He smiled at my horrified expression, and eyed my body greedily as his fingers stroked me, pressing and prodding. I wasn't sure what he was looking for until he gave me a sneering smile, and I felt his index finger go _inside_ of me. _Oh my god. What is happening? His finger…it's going in and out. Oh my god, there's two fingers now. _I winced as Joe forced his two thick, stubby fingers inside of me while simultaneously kissing and licking my neck. It was as if he was literally sampling the taste of my flesh before devouring me. It hurt. Tears streaked down my cheeks out of anger and frustration, but as always they didn't do me any good.

Joe sucked on the flesh on my neck for a few more minutes before ripping the tape off impatiently from my mouth and promptly pressed his lips against mine, trying to kiss me the way I've seen in the movies. His hips were now gyrating in an extremely disturbing manner and he was thrusting the hard instrument between his legs into my abdomen. I tried to tilt my head away to avoid him, but he squeezed my jaws mercilessly with his free hand, positioning my face as he saw fit, and jamming his lips against mine. I felt faint from intaking his reeking, alcoholic fumes, and I was exhausted, but I wasn't going to let him dominate me. I wasn't going to be his slave. If I couldn't win by physical strength, then I was going to have to fight dirty. All I had to do was to make my brother somehow hear me.

I forced myself to relax and let Joe proceed as he liked. I could feel his tongue trying to push its way inside my mouth. Filled with disgust, I fought my instincts to struggle and push back, and reluctantly parted my lips ever so slightly. Swiftly Joe's large tongue stuck itself inside my oral cavity, swirling its way around the inside of my cheeks and my retreating tongue. I closed my eyes and clamped my teeth down on his fleshy muscle, and let go out of frantic terror as Joe hollered in pain, blood flowing profusely from his mouth.

"_HOLY SHIT. YOU FUCKING BITCH. FUCK."_ He yelled shrilly, letting go of me. I instantly took my chance and screamed for help.

"MIHAEL! HELP! HE'S HURTING ME!" I shrieked, making my way for the door. I opened it slightly when Joes hands wrapped themselves around my waist and dragged me backwards. "MIHAEL, PLEASE, NO—" Joe slapped me so hard my neck snapped to one side. I yelped in pain. The front of Joe's shirt and his hands were now covered in blood, and his wound hadn't stopped bleeding.

Joe closed his hands around my neck, dripping hot, sticky blood onto my face. I couldn't breathe as my airways constricted. He was throttling me. "I'm going to fucking kill you, fucking orphan cunt," he hissed, adding pressure. Stars erupted before my eyes and filled my vision. My arms and fists flailed wildly but couldn't find their target.

The bathroom door suddenly flew open, and my brother stood in the doorway. In his hands he grasped the baseball bat, and his eyes were filled with menace and bloodlust. Joe loosened his grip on me and cowered before him, eyes widening as he saw the bat. He began spewing desperate negotiations.

"Mihael, put the bat down. I can explain. I can, please…" Joe pleaded. Mihael took a few steps towards him, and he blundered backwards against the toilet. Joe moaned panicly, looking frantically around the room for a means of escape. My brother looked down on him one last time with eyes on fire before slugging his brains out. The force of the blow knocked Joe's head against the bathtub in a deafening _clank_, and our foster father moved no more. His face remained frigid, with two eyes gaping mindlessly forward. There was so much blood: crimson cascaded into the bathtub from his mouth and dented head.

Mihael paid no heed to Joe, threw the bat outside and tended to me. "Elena, are you okay? What the _fuck _happened?" He noticed the handprint on my face and the hickeys on my neck, as well as my shirt, which was still raised, exposing half of my abdomen, and froze.

"That sick _fuck,"_ he muttered, crouching down to where I lay traumatized and broken. "Did he…did he…" my brother couldn't even express himself through his anger. He cupped his hands around his head and let out a dismayed cry.

I couldn't find the words to say. It was as if I had lost the ability to live, and was paused in my state of shock. My brother placed his arms below me and tried to lift me up, but I flinched and cringed backwards.

"_Don't you touch me,"_ I seethed, and Mihael drew back, hurt. I immediately regretted snapping at him. I didn't know what I was doing anymore. I could not help but replay what Joe had just done to me over and over in my head, nor could I erase the image of his body lying cold against the porcelain tub.

"Sorry. I just…I-I," I was hyperventilating and weeping uncontrollably.

"Elena, I would never hurt you. Please," Mihael said softly, placing his arms gently beneath my body. I tensed up at first, but then buried my face into my brother's chest as he lifted me and carried me back into our room. There we sat together for what felt like hours, until at last I drifted off into a shallow, troubled sleep full of avid nightmares of the incidents before.

I awoke from a fitful sleep the next morning to Mihael hastily running about, packing our backpacks with clothes and food. He saw me awake and came over, concerned.

"How are you feeling?" It wasn't really a question, because we both knew I had no clear answer. His expression was so pained that it sent shards piercing into my heart, and I desperately wanted to talk about something else. I couldn't deal with what happened last night, not yet. For now, I just wanted to bury it deep within me in some far corner of my mind.

I sat up in alarm. "Oh my god, Mihael, we killed him. What are we going to do?" Joe's dead fish eyes appeared in my mind.

He gave me a long, hard look and sighed. "We are going to run away. I bought train tickets to London. It's best that we get as far away from here as possible."

"Run away?" I was seized by panic. "And leave him here? They'll come after us Mihael! We'll be caught!"

"If we tell them now, they will punish us either way," he said, looking at me straight in the eyes. "Do you trust the system? The system that placed us with this motherfucker? No one will want us after this, and we'll be placed in some correctional facility, or worse." He looked away. "They'll think us murderers."

I gulped. "But we can't survive on our own. We have no money, no connections…once they find him here they'll be looking for us. We can't avoid them forever."

"I'd rather take that chance than turn ourselves in now. I took the rest of that motherfucker's money and even after buying our tickets there's some left over. We will live our lives our own way now." He sat next to me, brimming with anticipation. "Think about it, Elena: we'll make our own rules, and no one will push us around anymore. The money will last us at least a few days after we arrive, and who knows? There's many possibilities. We can change our names and try to find jobs. We can make it work," he insisted. "If we stay here, our future will only continue to be controlled by others who aren't interested in our well being."

I was silent, calculating his words. I thought back to the nice lady in charge of assigning us to appropriate foster homes. Would she really condemn us for defending ourselves against an intoxicated, crazy man trying to kill us?

"And believe me, I'll have to die before anyone _ever _takes advantage of you again." He announced it with such conviction that in that moment I resolved to follow him faithfully in his plan. After all, he was right: he was the only person in the world that actually cared for me. Also, the idea of liberation from the endless cycles of foster homes, raised hopes and subsequent disappointment was undeniably tempting. I needed a change.

"Okay. When do we leave?"


End file.
